


Gold Medal Ribbon

by Lucha_Pseud



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drunk Sex, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, WWE WrestleMania 33
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucha_Pseud/pseuds/Lucha_Pseud
Summary: After three wins that didn't feel like victories at Wrestlemania, the former members of the Shield reunite in a hotel room to commiserate and reconnect.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Gold Medal Ribbon

Roman sits in the dark on the balcony of his hotel room with his feet on the railing and stares at the moon. He can still feel the jarring impact of the spears he delivered to a legend. He can also feel the waves of hate off the crowd as the last of them turned against him, his 'empire' crumbling to dust. 

Vince clapped him on the shoulder after the match, while the people were still chanting his opponent’s name, and told him he did good. Roman nodded, stumbled past his boss, and retched into a trash can far away from the cameras. 

He doesn't remember the journey back to the hotel. He vaguely remembers throwing on a hoodie and getting out of the locker room, getting behind the wheel, but then he was on autopilot. He knows he got to the room and stripped his ring gear off like it burned and got in the shower. Then he dragged himself out, put on a pair of shorts, and collapsed in a chair on the balcony. 

He's been there since. 

"Hey," a familiar voice says to his left. The balconies aren't far apart, less than a foot. He turns to see Seth come to rest with his elbows on the railing of the adjoining room. He's got a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. "Nice night."

"You don't drink,” Roman says. His tongue feels thick and slow.

"Do sometimes," Seth says and takes a sip to prove it. 

"Shouldn't you be out celebrating?" Roman asks, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

"Nothing to celebrate, man. I did what I said I would." 

It’s not quite that simple. Seth fought through injuries and oppression, disregarded the advice of professionals to get to his Wrestlemania moment—beating Triple H clean in the center of the ring. Roman would have expected Seth to be ecstatic. Instead, he watches Seth throw back another hefty gulp of whiskey. 

"Slow down on that,” Roman warns. “You'll make yourself sick."

Seth looks down at the bottle pensively before he holds it out across the gap. Roman grabs it with a grateful nod and takes a long pull. 

"Truth is, I don't feel like I won," Seth says so softly it’s nearly carried away on the breeze. Roman holds the bottle out to give it back. Thankfully, Seth just puts the cap on it and holds it instead of drinking. "I beat him, okay? That's whatever. I beat him in a match. But he'll go home to his wife and kids. And I'll go home to nothing."

"C'mon, man. Don't say that. You got family. I saw your mom out by the pool today."

"It's different. Because of him, I walked away from the family I chose for myself. So this match, it wasn't even about winning. It was about—I just wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel a fraction of what I’ve felt. And I wanted to do it at Mania. Part of me relishes the fact that I did it injured and sick because now he can feel as humiliated as I did when he turned on me."

"Yeah, sucks getting betrayed," Roman sighs without bitterness, half hoping Seth will just go. He's years past being in the mood to indulge Seth Rollins' pity parties. 

Only, that's not true and he knows it. Even now, he wants to help.

"Sorry," Seth says, contrite. He picks up the bottle again and holds it out. Roman starts to take a swig before movement startles him. He jerks his head over in time to see Seth jumping the gap between their balconies. 

"Jesus, dude. We're fourteen stories up."

"Thirteen. They skipped thirteen in the numbering."

"We're enough stories up to kill you, idiot. Don't jump off the balcony."

Seth shrugs. "Already done," he says stubbornly, then pulls up another chair and plops down beside Roman. Roman settles back, forcing his tense muscles to relax, and gulps whiskey. 

"So,” Seth says. “The Undertaker." 

Roman cringes. 

"How was that?"

"Not half as bad as it'll be tomorrow," Roman says, already dreading his appearance on Raw. Maybe he should have thrown the match. Maybe he should have let Taker win. As it is, he’ll be vilified, hated by the entirety of the crowd on Monday night. 

Seth grimaces sympathetically. "I wish I could take the heat off you, man."

"You tried," Roman says with a shrug. Seth has been in the business of building Roman up lately, mysteriously coming to his aid, helping him with matches. He’s been trying to use his clout to get the audience on Roman’s side, too. "I appreciate that. It's too late now, though. Best thing you can do now is get away from me, at least publicly."

"How long can you handle it alone?" Seth asks. "Even if we both get booed, you'll have someone to lean on."

"You got your own demons. Don't worry about mine."

"It's different. I deserve mine."

Roman glances appraisingly at him. It's not like Seth to admit he's been wrong or that he deserves consequences for his actions. "Doesn't make them easier to fight," Roman concedes. "Besides, not like I didn't ask for the audience to hate me. One versus all," he snorts thinking about his old motto. "They had every reason to turn on me."

Seth reaches out to pat his forearm before he tugs the bottle away and sips it. 

"I'm serious about that whiskey, man,” Roman warns. “You don't drink that much. It'll hit you hard."

"Thanks, mom. I think I'll be okay," Seth snorts with an affectionate shove at Roman's shoulder. 

They both jump when someone starts pounding on the door. Seth levers himself up automatically, swaying a little on his feet. "Got it," he announces as he limps off across the room. Roman starts to remind him that it’s not his room, but abandons the attempt before it leaves his lips. If it’s just a hotel staffer, it won’t matter whose room they’re in.

But it’s not a hotel staffer. 

Dean Ambrose jerks back and glares at Seth when the door opens. "Oh, Jesus. Wrong room. _Really_ fucking wrong room," he slurs, obviously already drunk. 

"Dean," Roman calls and sees Dean peek around Seth to spot him on the balcony. "You got the right place, man. Join the party."

Dean spares a final, disgusted look at Seth and edges around him to get into the room. He collapses against the railing by Roman's bare feet. "So," he starts just a little too loudly for the quiet night. "How was Wrestlemania?" 

"You would know. Successful title defense and all. Congrats," Seth says before he notices Roman's warning look. 

Dean laughs bitterly. "Congrats, he says. _Congrats._ I beat up a football nobody—no offense," he offers to Roman.

"Dude," Roman huffs.

"What? I said no offense."

"Yeah, but damn. Some taken."

Dean shrugs. "You know I love you," he slurs. 

"Yeah yeah. Love you, too, numb nuts."

"Point is," Dean huffs, finger up to emphasize. "Point is, I'm the Intercontinental Champion. Me. I was heavyweight champion six months ago. And I'm—I'm still, after all these years, still just the scary lunatic who hurts people. So they give me guys who I can't hurt. Brick walls who can't wrestle for shit. And I can't even be in Wrestlemania. I defended my fucking title on the preshow. What's a guy gotta do to get a new reputation around here?"

"You’re asking the wrong group," Seth replies with a bitter snort. 

Dean sighs and thumps his head back against the railing. He holds a hand out and Seth passes him the bottle despite Roman's disapproving noise. "Look at us. Buncha sad sacks licking our wounds like we all lost."

Roman feels his brow tighten with his frown. Seth slinks down in his seat. Dean looks between them and nods like they said something profound. 

"Guess we did, kinda," he mutters. 

They waste a few minutes in silence. Roman returns his eyes to the moon as his buzz really starts to set in. 

"Hey, you guys wanna watch a movie?" Seth suddenly suggests. 

Roman drags his gaze down. “A movie?”

"Something to get our minds off stuff. We could order pizza, soak up some of the booze."

“Like a slumber party?” Dean asks with a sneer in his voice, but when Roman looks at him, he has a glint of good humor in his eyes. “Only if I get to braid your hair.”

Seth breathes a laugh and shakes his head. “Whatever you want, babe. Ro?”

Roman shrugs his agreement. He’ll be happy to have something to eat to counteract the liquor he's sure they'll all regret in the morning. 

Seeing Roman’s approval, Dean reaches out his hands for Seth like a child. "Help me up."

Seth stands unsteadily and reaches for his wrists. He helps Dean inside, 'the drunk leading the far drunker,' Roman thinks with a wry grin as Seth attempts to deposit Dean on the bed and gets dragged down in a tangle with him. Roman picks up his phone on the way inside, ignores the multitude of text messages, and googles a pizza place.

"Ro, order pineapple," Dean calls, comfortable in his position with his head on Seth's shoulder and their legs tangled together. 

"No, dude," Seth complains. 

"Yeah, do it. He secretly loves it," Dean says wickedly. "Oh, and beer. Order beer."

"I don't think they deliver beer," Roman chuckles and dials. 

He orders a Hawaiian because he loves Dean very much and a pepperoni for normal people, and when he asks if they deliver beer the only question is whether he wants a twelve or twenty four pack. He goes with twelve and hopes they don't even need that much. 

They put on an action flick. Dean snuggles with Seth like nothing ever happened while Roman crawls into bed beside them and leans back against the headboard. It takes two minutes before Dean reaches for Roman’s hand and drags him into the mix. He's a shockingly loving dude, for someone capable of such violence. 

Roman passes thirty blissful minutes curled up around Dean's back alternately running a thumb along Seth's forearm and petting over his ribs while they watch explosions and chases. When he eventually gets up for the door, he feels a thousand times better. 

They eat pizza and drink beer and laugh and grow sleepy over the remainder of the movie. Only, no one wants to be the one to break up the party, so Roman puts on another movie and crawls back into bed. Seth unselfconsciously stretches out beside him and Dean follows suit until they're in a tangle once more

Roman is most of the way to sleep when he hears Dean, head on his chest, talking in a low voice. "I get it," he says. "Guys out there, having their Wrestlemania moment. They don't want this night to end. It's one of the greatest nights of their lives."

Roman cracks open his eyes to see Dean run a hand over Seth's hair. Seth grins weakly, perhaps a bit tearfully. 

"I don't want this to end," Dean whispers. 

"It doesn't have to," Seth offers back. 

Dean reaches down for Seth's hand and tangles their fingers together on Seth's stomach. "I miss you, baby."

"I miss you, too. Both of you."

Seth leans in, and Dean meets him halfway. They’re kissing. Roman’s heart jumps into a new beat but he keeps his breathing steady. He’s not sure how welcome his stare will be. At least, not until Dean breaks the moment and leans up on an elbow to look right at him. 

“Don’t just lay there. Get in here.”

Roman’s sluggish body resists his efforts to comply with Dean’s demand, but he manages. Once propped up, he finds himself unsure of what he’s supposed to do. He watches Dean realize his predicament with a sly smile before leaning over Seth to put his mouth to Roman’s.

It’s not a smooth kiss nor a particularly good one. Dean is enthusiastic, seemingly interested in licking all of the taste of pizza and booze off Roman’s tongue. His hands are everywhere, creeping down to pull at Roman’s shirt then up over his chest underneath it. He keeps going until Seth complains about Dean leaning on him and pushes on them to move. 

“I’m not here to watch you guys make out,” Seth complains, but his eyes are bright and happy. 

“Well,” Roman says with a glance at Dean for encouragement, which is readily given. “Don’t watch then.” He puts a thumb against Seth’s chin and leans down to kiss him, comparing the slow, methodical pace with the contained chaos of Dean’s mouth on his. Seth slides a hand over his hair, guiding his position, making it even better. Roman clutches onto Seth’s hip to anchor him close. 

“Hot,” Dean says, breaking the moment. When Roman draws away, Dean grins at him. “So? We doing this?”

It’s a bad idea, is what Roman should say. They’re all drunk and sad and coming together impulsively. 

But Dean is up on his knees stripping his shirt off and working on his shorts, and Seth is reaching for the back of Roman’s neck to lure him into another kiss while cupping his other hand around Roman’s crotch. 

Roman doesn’t say no. 

They get off together clumsily, lazily, drunkenly—but they manage. Seth sticks his hand down Roman’s shorts and jerks him off while Dean pulls Seth’s pants down and rubs arrhythmically against his bare ass. Seth grasps for Dean’s hand and gets him to touch his dick before returning to the business of driving Roman crazy with his palm against the head of his dick. Somehow, with all of that going on, they manage to finagle each other to completion. 

It’s the final straw in Roman’s ability to remain conscious. He barely stumbles to the bathroom long enough to clean off before he returns to the bed. He may as well be asleep before his body touches the mattress. He’s only vaguely aware of his companions joining him, covering him, a kiss on his cheek, and then he fades away into slumber

***

Roman wakes to a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and the smell of coffee and bacon. He struggles into consciousness and opens his eyes. 

Dean beams at him from the table by the balcony door. "Morning sunshine!"

Across the table from Dean, Seth groans and pulls his sunglasses—actually Dean's sunglasses—tighter over his eyes. "Shhhh, maniac."

Roman stumbles out of bed and to the bathroom to wash the taste out of his mouth and empty his bladder. When he gets back, he plops down at the table and takes the coffee Dean passes his way. 

Dean grins like he hasn't in so long, like he hasn't got a care in the world. "Got you something greasy and carby to start your day,” Dean says while passing a bagel sandwich across the table to Roman. “I'm trying to convince this stick in the mud to go run with me."

Seth folds his head down into his arms and groans. He holds up an index finger. "One, hangover of a lifetime."

"Running will fix that."

Seth holds up a second finger. "Knee is in pieces. Held together with duct tape and hope."

"You're tough. It's just a little, tiny, twelve mile run."

Seth folds the index finger down again so he's flipping Dean off. Dean chuckles fondly and bites into his sandwich. 

"For real though," Dean says around a bite. "You're taking a break from wrestling today, right?"

Seth groans. "I can't."

"You just said your knee—"

Seth makes a frustrated sound, and Dean cuts off. 

"Can't look weak, huh darlin?" Dean asks in a tone that says he fully understands. 

Seth shakes his head where it’s still mostly buried in his arms. 

"Okay, tough guy. I'll give you a pass on the run today."

"Thanks," Seth mumbles dryly. 

Roman glares when Dean turns hopeful eyes on him instead. "Don't you dare look at me.”

"Aw, c'mon!" Dean cajoles. "Go for a run with me, for old time’s sake."

"Old times—Dean, you run like a gazelle. Those old times involved me running until I nearly puked."

"It's good for you."

"It’s impossible to counteract the calorie burn and bulk, which is what's on the plan for the next six weeks. No. I'll take new times, thanks."

Dean hesitates. Seth raises his head. They both look at Roman. 

"What?" Roman asks both sets of quizzical eyes.

"We gonna be having new times?" Dean asks hesitantly. "This ain't some one-time nostalgia trip y’all forget about after we walk outta here?"

"What? Yeah, of course," Roman says with a wounded note in his tone. "What was this all about if not? What was the point?"

Seth glances at Dean and slowly grins. Dean smirks back and flops against his chairback. "Alright, don't get all twisted up. Just checking."

Dean fights a grin about the answer all the way through the rest of his breakfast before jumping up from the table with boundless energy. 

"Alright, kids. I gotta go, but I'll be back. Gimme like two hours. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Roman says dryly. He has no plan to move until it’s time to go get booed by an arena full of people on Raw.

Dean’s dimples come out in full force when he grins manically. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

Seth snorts and puts his head down on his arms again. When the door closes, he rolls his head to the side to squint at Roman through Dean's sunglasses. "Forgot about his damn superpower."

“No hangovers seems like a pretty sweet deal."

"Shoulda listened to you, laid off the bottle. But I was messed up after that match, man. Couldn't think straight."

"I understand, sweetheart."

Seth smiles at him, a quick twitch at the corners of his mouth. "Got us here, though. Together. So maybe a sad Mania and a murder hangover are worth it."

Roman grins. "Yeah. Totally worth it."

Seth picks another chunk out of his bagel and nibbles at it. "Bet nobody would even notice if we go back to bed."

"Cesaro won't miss you at Crossfit?"

"I'm not going to a box like this. I'll puke and never live it down."

Roman huffs a laugh. "Could take Tylenol and sleep it off, hit up a workout on the way in to Raw."

"Sold."

And that is how Roman finds himself closing the curtains, turning out the lights, and crawling back into bed to curl around Seth like a shell, waiting for Dean to return.


End file.
